


Event Horizon

by grey_orchids



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_orchids/pseuds/grey_orchids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No ZA AU. While at work after hours in Senoia, Georgia, Beth witnesses something she shouldn't have between a local gang, and a couple of new guys in town. Daryl lies to protect her, and their lives become entangled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Senoia, Geogia

_I hop off my motorcycle with trepidation. The faded blue and yellow sign reads The Songbird. It looks like a cross between a forgotten bar and a cafe._

_I fall in behind Merle and push the hair out of my face. Merle pulls the door open with a grunt and smiles at one of the waitresses walking past us. She flashes us a shy smile. "You see baby brother, we are making friends already."_

You're _making friends._

_"Yeah." He sends a sharp glare at my non-committal response._

_The host's voice is muffled amongst the clang from the kitchen and the buzz of voices throughout the dinning room. I follow Merle to our assigned table and fall into my seat. This place definitely moonlights as a bar - they've got an empty stage and a small space that I can only assume is a dance floor. Looks like this is as good as it's going to get in this one-horse town. I feel Merle's eyes on me as I linger on the details of the ceiling._

_"Come on now, don't be a poor sport about this."_

_"You said we ain't going to be doing this no more." I grit out under my breath, scanning the restaurant._

_"What? You don't like it here?" His smile is wide, "If you got any better ideas, I'm all ears." I know there's no sense arguing with him. After a beat of silence, Merle nods._

_"That's what I thought. We got a good thing going, Darylina. Just let me do what I got to do."_

_I nod as our waitress comes to the table._

_"_ _Hi! My names Beth. I'll be taking care of you today." By some miracle, Merle doesn't jump on her poor choice of words._

_"_ _What can I grab you gentlemen to drink?" As she speaks again I look up, and feel my jaw tighten._

_"We ain't no gentlemen, sweetheart. Just a couple coffee's should do it." She smiles politely at Merle's grin and I hear 'I'll be right back' as I stare at where her face was a moment before. Merle leans back in his seat, and stretches out._

_"Something on your mind, brother?" He asks, picking up the menu. "Nah." I pick up my menu, although it's a meaningless gesture. My eyes are restless as I read and re-read the same three lines until I'm interrupted by her voice._

_"Anything I can get started for you?"_ _She motions to the menu and Merle's face splits into an amused grin._

_"Now, what does a pretty girl like you eat at a place like this?" There it is. I glance at her reddening face but she doesn't miss a beat. "I can finish off our lumberjack breakfast in a hurry, if that's what you mean." Merle laughs at her response and tosses the menu on the table._

_"Then I'll tell you what, darlin' - your lumberjack breakfast sounds delicious." She nods, and with the scribble of a pen she turns to me._

_"And for you?" How does he do it? I take my eyes off of my brothers easy smile and face the notepad in her hands._

_"Got any pancakes?" She starts to answer when Merle interrupts. "What you talking about boy? Ain't getting no pancakes. He'll have what I'm having." She waits a beat, and when I don't argue she breathes in deep._

_"Two lumberjack breakfasts it is." I can tell without looking she smiles as she says it, but I don't bother to confirm my theory. Merle shakes his head._

_"You know what your problem is? You don't know a good thing when you see it." He gestures out the window to our new home, and I feel the heat rise into my chest._

_"Maybe. But you never know when to quit while you're ahead." I answer without hesitation. Merle sucks air in between clenched teeth. I can see him weighing his words. He rests his elbows on the table and leans in. Although his posture seems casual, the edge in his voice offers no comfort._

_"Then I guess we both have something to work on while we're here, don't we?"_


	2. Waiting

The Songbird is nearly empty, but you wouldn't be able to tell from the state of the kitchen. Everyone is bustling around and I grab my apron through the chaos.

"Closing tonight?" I turn at the voice. It's Patricia.

"Fourth time this week." I answer with a smile.

"Well, it's pretty dead out there. Make sure you set up the stage for Jeff Markham. He paid up and wants to play a set at 10."

"Of course." I peek out at the dinning area, which is as lively as a stone. I check my watch. It's just gone eight and most of the patrons have moved closer to the stage. Most of the patrons.

I spot a man sitting close to the door, who I think I recognize. As I wrap the strings of my apron around myself, I remember how I know him. He's the quiet half of the new duo in town. They don't look like they are up to much good, but this one seems the lesser of two evils.

I walk out and take a deep breath. The man by the door has a beer, his eyes on the television. Patricia joins me by the stage and follows my line of sight.

"When did this place become so sketchy?" She asks with a laugh.

"Probably when Joe bought it." I answer, and she throws me a look.

"You don't think he's coming here tonight, do you?" She asks, and I purse my lips.

"God I hope not." The man gave me chills. He owned a bike shop, a gas station and The Songbird - seems like acquiring real estate is one of his few legal hobbies. This restaurant/ bar conglomerate might have an identity crisis, but the folks in this town liked to eat their grits in between slow country songs.

Patricia glances at her watch and I feel her unwrap her apron.

"I'm out of here. You okay?" She pauses and I smile to release her.

"Of course! You got plans for tonight?" I watch her face redden as she shakes her head.

"Yeah, I don't know. Not really."

"This about a boy?" She ducks her head and steps towards the kitchen.

"I've got to go, you don't party too hard tonight, ya hear?" Her smile is flat and my eyes narrow. There's something that girl isn't telling me.

"Yeah, alright." Before I can ask her what's going on, she has slipped behind the kitchen doors.

It doesn't take much to pique someone's interest in this town. If she's got a boy, I'm sure I'll hear about it soon enough.

I glance once more at the lone man, his eyes glazed, his hand idly playing with his coaster.

As I head to my tables, I can see the sky melting into every shade of pink. It's beautiful.

...

The night drags.

Later, as I step off of the stage, Jeff Markham's eager face finds mine.

"All set, Beth?" His genuine love of music makes his overzealous attitude seem charming. I can't help but laugh as I look at his audience.

"Yeah, the stage is all yours. Sorry the house ain't packed tonight."

"It's alright. Gotta start somewhere, you know?"

I admire his dedication. "Break a leg." The familiar buzz of electricity ignites in the air and I lean against an empty table as someone comes into view.

"Hey, my shifts over... That man is all that's left in my section." Claire motions by the door. He looks positively anxious.

"What's he doing here?" I wonder out loud.

"He's waiting for someone."

I laugh, "Well someone should tell him he's been stood up."

"No, not a girl. I think he's waiting for his brother."

"Some brother."

"Yeah well, I'm out of here. See you tomorrow, Beth." As Claire leaves, I walk over towards the man, scattered bits of coaster and restless hands dance along the table. Claire topped off his beer, so there wasn't much for me to do.

"Hi, I'm taking over this section, is there anything I can get for you?" He looks up at me through a scruff of hair and shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm good." He breathes out and looks away from me.

"I just...I know you've been here a while, are you sure there's nothing I can get for you?"

The man doesn't meet my eyes but speaks faintly, "Your kitchen still open?" He asks like I'd be doing him a favour by answering.

"It's...not, but I think I can get you something." He looks uncomfortable at the suggestion.

"Nah, don't worry about it." I stand there for a second and nod to the back of his head as he stares out the window.

"Okay, no problem."

I walk towards the kitchen, and as I look back, his face is creased with concern. Doesn't need anything? I'd say he needs a whole lot. It takes me all of two seconds to remember the only thing I know about him. Pancakes.

It doesn't take me long to heat up the stovetop and mix some batter. As I pour the mixture onto the sizzling surface, I tap my foot to the music. After a few minutes, I have a plate full of buttermilk deliciousness, and I hope he isn't offended I thought he could use a meal.

As Jeff continues to play the most twangy versions of Tim McGraw, I slide up to his booth.

"Hi, again. I made you this." I place down the plate and a saucer of maple syrup.

"Don't worry if you hate it or something, it's my treat." I bite my lip and wait for his response.

He releases a huff of air, something between a laugh and a forceful breath.

"Pancakes." He says it like he wasn't sure they really existed.

"I remembered you wanted some earlier..." I trail off as his head snaps towards me.

I can't identify the look in his eyes. Surprise?

"You've got some memory." He mutters, and grabs a fork. I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"They got you cooking back there too?" He asks and I stammer with surprise.

"No, actually," I motion to the empty tables, "just a really slow night." He nods and I smile. This guy doesn't share much of his brother's personality at all.

"Well, I'll let you eat in peace. I'll swing by in a bit." I leave the booth with a light feeling in my chest.

The seconds tick by agonizingly slow. After awhile, I chance a look at his table and notice the plate is empty. I can't stop the smile that splits my face.

When I go collect the dish, he looks up at me as I approach. I lose my nerve to ask him how the food was, so I quietly pile the utensils on the plate and make a move to head back to the kitchen.

"Hey," he interrupts me, "thank you." I turn to him. His eyes find mine and I feel sure that he means it.

"You're welcome."

…

By the time we start closing up, he's still at the booth, a cellphone sliding across the table between his hands.

It's just myself and Sean, who is wrapping cutlery, left for staff. He catches my eye and nods in the man's direction. He screams, 'get him out of here!' with his eyes, and I laugh. I figure it is a good a time as any to end this night. I pull his bill, pancake free, and head over to his table.

"Hey, we are going to be shutting down here pretty soon-"

"Yeah." He glances at the bill and pulls a few notes out of his wallet, cigarette in the que of his mouth. It's too much money, but he's already sliding out of his seat. I move out of his way, and I try not to linger.

As he walks away, I can see his leather vest; the wings are faded. I add his money to my cash out and notice Sean waiting expectantly at the door.

"Come on, let's go!" I laugh at his impatience.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming!" I grab my things and speed over to him. He opens the door for me and begins locking the place up as I walk out to my car. Sean finishes, and with a jingle of keys begins jogging over to the other side of the parking lot.

"Night, Beth!" He calls out and I give him a small wave.

The man is standing against the old wooden siding, and watching Sean get into his vehicle. I think about just walking past, but curiosity gets the best of me.

"You waitin' on someone?" I ask lightly. He shoots me a look, debating whether or not to answer. I hear Sean's car start as I pause.

"I was. I think I know where he might've gotten himself lost." It must be the man he was with earlier. His brother. I can't think of any reason to dawdle, so I take a breath as I begin to walk away.

"You got a bad part of town?" He asks, and I turn to his voice.

"A what?"

"You know, a part of town your parents told ya to steer clear of?" He gives me a once over, and I imagine he sees someone who'd never go anywhere she's not supposed to. I'm stunned for half a second.

"Yeah. You'd probably want to head west of 39th and Booth Street." He nods at my answer.

"Thanks." He takes a drag of his cigarette and leans back against the wall. Sean pulls out of the nearly abandoned parking lot with a screech.

My car is a few feet from the man, and as I approach my door I hear is voice.

"Is it normal for everyone to take off and leave ya here this late?" A warmth presses over me. Was he concerned or sizing me up for something? I instantly hate that I even think that. There's still good people out there, I remind myself.

"Sometimes." My laugh is more nervous than anything else.

He makes a sound from the back of his throat that's something between a disapproving grunt and an uninterested dismissal.

He glances at me as I open my door.

"Well, have a good night." I call out awkwardly. He doesn't say anything, but gives me a slight nod.

As I start my car, the engine seems too loud. When I pull out of the driveway I look in the rearview mirror; his eyes on my back window watching me disappear into darkness.


	3. Lying

My next shift is a Friday night. I ride my bike because the sunshine is too beautiful to stay out of, even if it is freezing. I'm closing with Sean again, and The Songbird is packed. It's normally not this busy, but by the time midnight hits, and Sean catches my eye with a worried and pointed glance around the crowd.

I'm running between the bar and what feels like every table for hours. When I hear Sean hop on stage to yell out last call, I feel a wave of relief.

I run to the kitchen to chug a huge glass of water, and to take a deep breath.

When I emerge, pancake man has entered, and taken a seat at the bar, Sean is pouring him the last drink of the night. The regulars insult Sean warmly, pretending to take bottles from behind the bar. Sean laughs, but I know he's not in the mood.

My watch reads 1:45. It feels earlier, and I smile at the drunken man who asks me for a scotch from the floor.

"I can get you a water, if you like!" I laugh. He scowls.

"You're no fun." He coughs out, and I smile while I walk over him to clear tables.

I fly through my closing duties. As I get behind the bar to grab Sean's bills, I catch pancake man's eyes. I smile reflectively, and notice he looks troubled.

It's not long afterwards that we convince people to clear out. The man disappears outside, and I can see his brother meet him by his bike, smoke in hand. At least he didn't get stood up tonight too.

It's really late by the time we finish our close. Sean goes to pull his keys, and I stop him.

"I was hoping I could close up tonight." He cocks his head.

"You planning on staying here long?" His eyes fall to my notebook and I pull the offending book behind me.

"No! Just wide-awake, is all. Could use the space." He reluctantly tosses me the keys, and heads for the door. I follow him, locking it from the inside and breathing deep.

I love this place when it's empty. The curtain across the stage is a velvety green, and I flick lights off as I make my way over. Someone else would think this place is scary, but I love the isolation.

As I slip through the curtain, I turn on the director lights. It's a faint glow near the side of the stage and I sprawl out, staring at the lights and cables above.

I open my notebook and think about what I want to write about next. I trace circles around the borders of the page and think. This stage and a pen have been my escape since losing my mom and Shawn.

I flip through the pages and read. Lyrics, poems, thoughts. So much of my life has been documented on these pages.

Suddenly, I hear the door clang open. I gasp and feel my heart hammer. Behind the curtain, I hear a rough and booming voice fill the space. No one else has keys but -

"Home sweet home!" It's Joe. After a beat I hear laughter and conversation. He must have brought friends. My veins turn to ice. They don't know I'm here.

I quietly pick up my notebook, and walk delicately to the light switch. I turn it off, waiting for a change from the voices. It doesn't come. The curtain must be too thick.

They continue talking, and I press against the wall. What should I do? I work here; maybe I could just say I stayed late to clean? Certainly Joe couldn't be upset about that?

Though slightly muffled, I hear a man ask, "When's the shipment coming in next?"

"Should be next week. Len here's got a lead on acquiring some new merchandise. That right?"

"Tha's right boss. That Mexican sonofabitch Jose is 'out of commission' for awhile so we can finally move some new product."

They laugh at something I don't understand. A feeling of dread hits me. I can't let them know I'm here. I try to steady my breathing. They can't stay here all night. They'll have to leave eventually. My heart is beating so hard I start to worry that they'll hear it.

The voices get closer to me and I step back, away from the voices. I must bump into a bucket or something, because there is a terrifying clatter. I squeeze my eyes shut and swear under my breath. Great job, Beth.

"Hey! Is someone back there?" One of Joe's men call out. Maybe I should try to hide. My mind races. There's nowhere to go.

I hear Joe's voice, "Hold on, gentlemen, no need to be alarmed." He waits a beat before he speaks again, "Come on out now." I know I shouldn't trust the calm in his voice. I know it. But I can't see the good in having him come back here to get me.

I shove my notebook down the back of my pants and walk towards the curtain. I can feel my hands shake as I pull the fabric back.

There are about a dozen men. I have tunnel vision – I can only see Joe's face. It feels like my body is on fire. Slowly, I see a few of the men step towards me. A predatory look in their eyes. Some whistle and call out to me although I can barely hear them.

"Well what do we have here?" Joe asks. I open my mouth to answer when I hear a loud voice to my left.

"She's with me."

I turn to the voice. It's the pancake man. As I turn to Joe, his expression changes. The men catcall behind Joe, and start joking amongst themselves.

"Is that so?" One of the men asks, and Joe shoots him a look. I notice the pancake man's brother staring at us with a look of disbelief.

Joe steps towards me, "This your girl, Daryl?" He motions to me, and I freeze.

Daryl. His name is Daryl.

"Yes, sir." He says, with a hint of defiance. Joe looks at me for a long minute.

"What's her name?" He asks Daryl, but never looks away from me.

"Beth." He answers without hesitation. Despite myself, I can feel a familiar heat creep up my chest.

He notices my staff shirt. "You work for me?" Finally, he addresses me.

"Yes. I've been at The Songbird for two years."

Joe nods.

"I meant to wait outside-" I start but Joe cuts me off.

"Well, if you work here, why don't you get us a round of beers?" I pause for a second before nodding and walking towards the bar.

Once behind it, I crouch down and remove my notebook, stashing it behind one of the boxes. When I stand up, I meet Daryl's eyes.

I know I am close to tears, so I blink and start to pour beer.

"What are you doing?" I ask him. He looks surprised at my question. When he doesn't answer, I continue.

"I don't even know you. Whatever you're getting at, you've got it for tonight. You can go back to Joe tomorrow and tell him it didn't work out. His face creases.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened," he leans over the bar as he whispers, "if I hadn't given you a good reason to be here evesdroppin'?" I feel a shiver run down my back. No, I don't know. I feel a swell of tears from beneath my eyelids. I wish I had just gone home.

"We'll figure it out later." He finishes, and takes a beer from my tray. As he walks back to the group I feel Joe's eyes watching my every move.

…

It isn't much later that Daryl approaches the bar once again, and I grip the counter.

"We're leaving." He announces shortly.

I don't speak, I just duck to collect my book, and keep it and my purse close to my body. I'm happy for the excuse to get out of here.

I notice him glance and the coil bound pages, but he says nothing. As I come out towards him, he extends his arm. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. As I move to lift my hand, he grips my upper arm almost too tightly and guides me towards the door.

"Don't be to easy on her!" One of the men calls out.

"Hey darlin', if you need it done right, come let me know." I try to keep the repulsion off of my face. I look up at Daryl who snaps his head in the direction of the voice.

"Find your own damn woman." He hollers and a few of the men bang their fists on the table laughing.

A low whistle cuts through the noise, "Whew, man that's some cradle robbin' if I ever saw it." The men laugh and Daryl's grip tightens, pushing me towards the door.

As it opens someone yells, "Save some for me!"

He doesn't speak when we are net with a wall of freezing air. He just pushes me towards his bike. My body freezes.

"Please let me go." I breathe out. His grip releases instantly. He walks over and hands me helmet.

"No, I'm not going anywhere with you." I whisper, suddenly more scared than I had been all night.

He nods at the door, "We are only walking out of there because we're going together." He says dangerously. I watch him run his hand through his hair. He looks concerned as he brings the helmet to me.

"Put it on. Don't put it on, it don't matter. But you're getting on this bike." I think about what's waiting for me inside and I look up at his eyes once more. I don't see darkness.

I grip the helmet and with shaking hands raise it over my head. Daryl gets onto his bike and starts his engine.

I've never been on a motorcycle before. I gingerly try to sit back a ways on the seat, but when Daryl glances back he shakes his head.

"Here, put your feet there." He motions and I obey, body shaking.

"The only thing between you and the pavement is me." He grips my arm and brings it around himself, pulling me forward. I place my purse and notebook between us.

"Whatever you do, don't let go."

That's all the lesson I get before he backs up and begins to take off.

In motion, I find it easy to hold on to him. The second we hit the pavement of the road he takes off and I think I surely break his ribs with how tightly I hold him.

My eyes are squeezed shut, my face tight against his back. I distantly remind myself that if he IS planning on doing anything nefarious with me, I'm not doing a good job of knowing my wherabouts.

After what feels like eternity, he slows and we stop. He gives my arms a slight tap and I release him slowly. Only in doing so do I appreciate the grip I had - my limbs ache horribly. I numbly try to take off the helmet.

"Sorry." I whisper.

I look up and see "MOTEL" glowing and flickering against the skyline. I know this place. It's mostly home to truckers passing though. Not known for being the friendliest place in town. This is where I die for sure.

Daryl starts walking and like an idiot I follow him.

He opens a door and pulls me inside. The second it closes he locks the door and turns to me. His mouth is set and he looks me over before swearing.

"I ain't going to hurt ya." My heart stars to race. I want to believe him.

"Then why'd you bring me here?"


	4. Trying

Daryl doesn't answer me right away, and instead starts pacing the room. I sit lightly on the edge of one of the beds and put my stuff beside me. I let my eyes wander. The room is spare. The table light is dim; two twin beds with threadbare sheets take up the majority of the space. The ceiling has water stains and an air of staleness fills my lungs.

Daryl breathes out and flicks a space open in the blinds to peer outside. I follow the line of his limbs. Long and so different than my own. I rub my arm lazily to ease the pain from gripping him too tightly. God only knows how sore he is, but he doesn't look phased.

He turns to me, silent. I meet his gaze and watch as his face softens.

"Shit, I didn't mean to scare you." He leans against the door and I nod.

"I know."

"Listen, we need to figure this out." He pulls out a cigarette and plays with it for a second.

"I think we just need to stick to it." He looks past me as he speaks. It's four in the morning. My adrenaline fights with exhaustion and I balk a little bit at the thought.

"Don't you think it's a bit of an over reaction?" I ask. "How mad could Joe get?"

Daryl's head tilts to the side.

"You're telling me you've worked for him for two years?" He shakes his head. "I've known the guy a week. There ain't a good bone in his body. If he thinks you heard somethin' or that you're spying on his business - he'll find a way to keep the upper hand."

"I didn't hear anything." I stammer.

"He won't see it that way," Daryl steps towards me, "and now that those guys have you on their radar -" He stops short and turns back towards the door.

"I don't know if I should trust you." I don't recognize my voice. Daryl shrugs.

"Can't say I blame ya." I look at him, and aside from the obvious danger, I swear that I see something good. Despite his anger or discomfort, he looks as vulnerable as I feel. I guess he's as trapped as I am.

"Alright. What do we have to do?" I ask and he stares blankly at me for a moment.

"I don't know." I can tell by the way he answers he means it.

"Okay. Why don't we start by exchanging numbers?"

"What for?" He asks skeptically.

"What if you need to get ahold of me?" When he stares at me, I continue, "What if I'm in trouble?" He reaches into his pocket and tosses me his phone - which I catch badly. It's a flip phone and there aren't many numbers. I add my details and send myself a text.

"There. All set." I hand him his phone and he pockets it without looking.

It only takes a minute of silence for him to shift uncomfortably.

"Alright, let me take you home." I nod. The sun is rising, and I ache everywhere.

As we leave the room, Daryl's brother angrily walks towards us. Daryl swears and steps in front of me in a single moment.

"Well wasn't that a surprise!" He exclaims, speaking only to Daryl.

"Do you have any idea the kind of damage control I had to run to cover your ass?" Daryl is silent.

"Knock it off, Merle."

"Let's get one thing clear. Whatever this is," he gestures wildly at us, "I ain't buying it."

Daryl doesn't say a word.

"We can explain." I offer, and he tears his eyes off of Daryl.

"No, Lolita, let me explain. I have _everything_ riding on the success of my partnership with Joe, and I'll be damned if my baby brother and a waitress ruin this for me." I stare at him in mild shock.

"So let me tell you both how this is going to go. You're going to convince everyone in this town. You're going to convince your friends. You're going to convince Joe. Your going to convince _me_ , god damn it."

My face feels hot and I can feel the prick of tears threatening to swell.

"We will." I answer, my voice thick.

"Got her answering for ya already?" He asks, turning back to Daryl. "Guess you two are half way there." He pushes past us roughly, and I stare at the space where he stood.

In half a beat Daryl says, "Let's go." But doesn't turn to me. I follow him towards the bike, a knot of tension rising within my throat.

From behind us, Merle calls out, "Oh and I'm done with your truck. Leave my bike here." He then disappears into the motel with a slam.

Daryl curses under his breath and starts walking in the opposite direction. When we approach a gray Ford pickup, I actually feel a weight lift. No more motorcycles for this girl. Finally, a silver lining.

...

The ride is mostly silent. Daryl's truck is comfortable, and I feel myself nearly drifting to sleep more than once.

When we get to the farm, I sit up a little straighter. As the truck stops, Daryl kills the engine, and I open the door to hop down to earth.

"Thanks for the ride." He answers with a nod and I wait a beat.

"It's nice to actually meet you." I continue, and his eyes snap to my face. It seems like he checks to see if I'm serious. I am.

He says, "Yeah." The sky around him is an unreal orange-pink, and I suddenly feel very heavy.

Daryl starts the truck, and I take that as my cue to let him leave. The thrum of the engine pulses through my body.

For a second I am distracted by the sight of his cheekbones. In the off center glow of his truck light, they are more pronounced than I first realized. For a small town girl like me, he's not half-bad as a fake suitor.

I shut the truck door and head towards my porch. Only when I'm on the other side of the door do I finally hear him pull away.

I don't think my smile fades until I fall asleep

...

When I wake, my body lets me know how unimpressed it is with me. I groan and blink at the clock.

I slept all day. I am due at work in just over an hour. Sighing, I flop against my pillow. Staring at the streams of sunlight, I notice a piece of paper under my door. I lift my head.

Willing myself to stand, I get up and pick up the note:

_Beth,_

_I must have been dreaming. I know you didn't wake me up at four in the morning by catching a ride home with a strange man in the loudest truck on earth._

_Call me._

I sigh. What will I tell Maggie? My dad? Maybe Daryl is wrong about Joe. I know he isn't, but I can't imagine lying to my family. My friends. I also can't feel too badly for myself. If someone out there volunteers to have my back, I should be grateful. He didn't have to say anything. He could have let Joe come to his own conclusions and keep his hands clean. But he didn't. I hope one day I figure out why.

...

My shift at The Songbird gives me too much time to think. My feet hurt, and every time I look at the stage I'm filled with ice.

I'm not surprised at all when Joe and his men saunter in at midnight. The crowd gets tougher the later it gets, and they barely stand out. When Daryl and Merle enter, Daryl doesn't meet my eyes. Merle however, sends me a look so full of warning I excuse myself from the floor and run to the kitchen.

I sprint to the walk in freezer, and shut the door. It's cold, but at least it brings down the heat that has risen to my temples.

A couple of the cooks come in to grab food and shoot me a look of knowing.

"Something out there worse than what's in here?" Jeff asks, motioning to the stacks of congealed food bins. I crack a smile and try to appear relaxed.

"You could say that."

"Don't shoot the messenger, but Joe came back here looking for ya." He leaves with a bag of frozen French fries.

I swear at the empty room. Straightening my apron, I exit the freezer. I leave the kitchen with an abundance of false confidence. As I approach the table, Daryl spots me. He doesn't look away until I reach them.

"How are y'all doing tonight?" I ask with the biggest smile I can muster. Joe is closest to my right and he smiles with as much sincerity as I do.

"Beth! Our new favorite bartender. I asked Claire if she wouldn't mind letting you take care of us tonight." His arm falls around me, resting low on my back. Instinctively, I look to Daryl, whose back stiffens.

"Why of course!" I think I manage to keep my face free of the internal horror that I feel. I dart a look across the diner to Claire, who shrugs and mouths, "Sorry".

Merle's eyes are burning a hole through me, and I try to figure out what I'm doing wrong already.

"How about I get you guys started with a drink?" I ask brightly, and take their orders, starting with Joe.

Daryl, who is across from Joe, is my last order. When he asks for a Guinness, I try to smile extra sweetly. I shoot Merle a look, and he shakes his head.

...

As the night progresses, I have fewer and fewer tables. Fewer and fewer distractions from the increasing discomfort I am feeling.

Joe and his men are too familiar for my liking. Every order comes with a touch of my hand, the squeeze of my arm, the tap of my leg.

It's not unfamiliar territory, but I won't be able to ask Sean to send them home if it gets any worse. Daryl stares at me when I come around. He looks uneasy. He's fidgeting in his seat, a restless sort of discontent.

Combined, I feel overwhelmingly self-conscious. I try to linger near Daryl as much as I can. When I gently touch his arm after placing his drink, he flinches, and I nearly apologize out of habit. Merle sees the exchange and throws his arm around Daryl's shoulders giving him a little shake. I thank the lord that Joe is in a heated conversation with the guy beside him.

I'm at a loss. Is this his idea of convincing Joe I'm anything more than a serious annoyance to him?

I walk around the table to distract myself. One of the men lifts up his empty beer glass as a way of calling me over. I approach him and he pulls me against him.

"Anyone ever told you, you got a pretty smile?" I do my best to nod. The alcohol on his breath is overwhelming.

"What do you see in that guy, anyhow?" He asks, and I try to brush him off.

"I _see_ that you've got an empty glass, can I get you a refill?"

"Tell me what he's got that I don't" He tries again. I open my mouth to answer before I realize I don't know what to say. I doubt very much he'd like my answer.

As he pulls me tightly against him again, I am wretched out of his grip by my arm, and Daryl is pulling me behind him once again.

"I ain't goin' to tell you twice." Daryl looks down at the man whose put his hands up I mock self-defense.

"Lighten up, man." He laughs.

Merle's voice calls out across the table, "Come on brother, no harm no foul." He lifts up his glass and the table follows suit. They yell out to one another, and once again I'm as impressed as I am frightened with how quickly their moods shift.

And Daryl is most confusing of them all. One minute he's repulsed by my touch, and the next he's jumping at the chance to protect me? From typical bar sleaze, of all things.

I tap Daryl's shoulder. He turns to face me.

"Can I talk to you outside for a moment?" I ask, and Daryl swears, answering with a clipped, "Yeah."

I push open the door and walk out as far as I can. I can feel him following behind me. When I turn to face him, all of my words disappear.

His faces creases. When he meets my eyes he looks...guilty. Suddenly I feel like apologizing.

"What's wrong?" I ask. He runs his hands over his face.

"Listen, I ain't any good at this."

"If you just want to call this off, that's fine. I can handle Joe." I say, and I nearly believe it.

Daryl shakes his head, "It ain't that easy."

I nod and notice Merle walking towards us.

"Heads up." I mumble, and jerk my head in Merle's direction.

"Hey there love birds." Merle starts, pulling out a cigarette.

"Is that you're idea of convincing?" Merle directs the question at Daryl.

"I'm tryin'." Daryl pulls out a cigarette his own, and I glance at Merle's face.

"You need to try harder. Both of you. Whatever the hell happened in there can't happen again." I stand awkwardly between them for a few seconds more before I clear my throat.

"I should go back to work." I step between them and walk towards the door. It will get better. It has to.

...

After closing, I exit with Sean. Daryl is leaning against his truck with a cigarette in his mouth and I walk towards him.

"Night, Beth." Sean calls out, sending a wary look in Daryl's direction. I smile and he gets into his car.

I stop about a foot in front of Daryl. To look at him, you'd think he was a typical redneck. All leather and denim. His posture is defensive, and too casual. It makes it impossible to look away.

"Can I bring you home?" He asks, and I'm reminded of what's under that leather vest.

"Yeah, sure."

Once we hit the road, Daryl turns to me, "I don't always have the best disposition."

"You don't have to explain yourself." I interrupt, and Daryl shakes his head.

"That's the thing. Shit's only going to get more complicated."

"Why don't we just...get to know one another?" I ask. He turns to me, but doesn't respond.

"Listen, I know this probably isn't how you pictured things would go, but you're new in town. And there's a very small group of people in my life I _haven't_ known since I was in diapers. Would it be the worst thing to make a new friend?" I watch his face for any indication of how he feels. The best I could say is that an incredulous disbelief washes over him.

"No, it wouldn't be the worst thing," he starts, "the worst thing would be messing this up and causing an even bigger mess." I nod, deflated.

"I ain't trying to take advantage of you." He says abruptly, rubbing his jaw and staring out the window.

"I know that." My voice comes out like a whisper.

"This Thursday, Joe's having a...celebration in the next county over. We need to go."

"Okay, no problem."

"I doubt a farmers daughter has had much experience at a biker bar, but by the time we go, we both gotta be better prepared." A huff of air leaves my lungs.

"Is that more of Merle's sage advice?" Daryl shoots me a look.

"Good lord. If I had know the mouth you had on ya, I might of kept mine shut when I had the chance." I laugh outright and catch the corner of Daryl's lip twist up with humor.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" I ask and Daryl's brow cinches.

"Why?"

I sigh. It's like pulling teeth, with this man.

"I don't work. We should get together and 'get prepared'." For a second I think he will decline, but watching his face I can see he can't come up with good enough reason to.

We pull up into my driveway and Daryl concedes.

"Yeah. Might as well." I try not to take his disinterest personally. I smile and open the door.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow." I walk towards my door, knowing he'll stay until I'm inside.

As I enter the doorway, I notice a light on in the kitchen. Shit.

"Maggie?" I whisper, locking the door. Distantly, I can hear Daryl pull out of the driveway.

I round the corner and my heart stops. It's my dad. His expression is a set line.

"You mind explaining why half the town keeps talking about you dating some drifter?"

 


	5. Learning

"Dad, it's not what you think." His face doesn't soften at my words. The house is so quiet I can hear my breathing.

"You must imagine my surprise when Mary Edwards called me to say she saw you getting close with an older man at The Songbird. I told her she must be mistaken. But to see it with my own eyes?" He gestures at the driveway, and I feel a cold tightness fall over me.

"It isn't what it looks like." I step into the kitchen and my mind races. Looking at my fathers face, I can't imagine lying to him.

"Then tell me what it is, Beth." He pleads.

I want to tell him the truth. A part of me needs to tell him the truth, but a small voice inside of me says it isn't just my truth to tell. My hands are restless in front of me.

Eventually I ask, "Don't you trust me?"

He takes a deep breath and motions to the seat in front of him.

"What's his name?" I feel the ghost of a smile on my lips and I take a seat.

"Daryl." He nods, eyes tired.

"I know how hard it is, you know, to do these things without your mother." The sadness in his voice breaks my heart. I miss her, so badly.

"You know what I always think about when I need mom?" I ask softly.

"What's that?"

"You." He laughs at my answer.

"I mean it! No matter how dark it gets, I see the light. I see you."

"Beth. You know I'm just looking out for you. You're so young." Those three words never seem to get easier to hear.

"I'm not that young." I counter, and he reaches across the table to grab my hand.

"I want to give you my support. But I have to meet him." I nod and stifle a yawn.

"Go on up to bed. We will talk about this tomorrow." He stands, and I say my goodnights. Shuffling up to my room, I'm so relieved to see my bed. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and toss my purse on the floor. With a long t-shirt and a pair of shorts, I melt into the mattress.

...

I wake to the intermittent buzz of my cell phone against my nightstand. The world is blurry, and the sun is bright. I pick up my phone and see that it's Daryl.

I sit upright. My heart races, and my mind flips through all of the horrible potential reasons he might be calling.

"Hello?" I answer, still foggy.

There is a pause.

"Are you sleeping?" His voice is incredulous. I throw back my comforter.

"Some of us aren't used to going to bed at four in the morning every day." I hear him huff at my response.

"Yeah well, throw on some clothes. I'm outside." Shit. I keep my cool and start walking towards the bathroom.

"Give me five minutes." I hang up, and strip out of my clothes; I turn the shower on to a boiling temperature.

I think nervously about where Maggie and my dad might be, but when I don't hear anyone hollering up to me, I figure I'm in the clear.

Definitely _more_ than five minutes later, I take a deep breath and slowly open the front door. I try to walk casually to his truck, and notice he's not in it. Great. I scan around me, my damp hair drying in the wind. After a minute I spot Daryl by my fence, a ways away from the driveway. What on earth is he doing?

I walk over to him, and notice he's...fixing my fence.

"Hi." I speak to get his attention. He looks up and stands as I get closer to him. He doesn't say anything.

I look at the fence. Seems like he fixed a hole with some spare chain link. You can see where the color is a different shade of prison-grey. Who carries extra chain link?

"Thank you." I stammer, wrapping my head around the scene in front of me.

"Noticed it when I drove up." He offers as an explanation. I can feel the smile take over my face.

"Come on." He starts walking back to the truck and I follow behind him.

I stare at his wing-adorned leather shoulders until we reach his truck. He tosses his pliers into the bed, and walks around to the passenger door, opening it.

"Time to go practice being normal." He says, throwing an arm up on the doorframe. I smile as I hop into the truck.

When he slides in, he starts the engine and turns the radio low; it's a song I don't recognize. After a moment, he turns to me, "Where to?"

...

We drive out of Senoia. I figure it will be easier if I don't run into too many people I know. The air is cool, but the sun is shining. I look out the window at all the trees flittering in the wind. I don't try to make small talk because I'm scared when we get to wherever we are going, we will have exhausted all comfortable topics of conversation.

When I recognize a familiar sign, I sit straight.

"To your right there is an amazing outdoor cantina. Best milkshakes around." He glances over to me before turning into the small parking lot. When he kills the engine, I hop out of the truck and wait for him to emerge. It takes a minute.

He looks hesitant, but walks towards me anyways, "What is this place?" He asks, playing with a cigarette pack.

"It's like a food truck," I answer, "and it has little picnic tables." I point to the tree line, which has semi-private openings where weathered tables have taken permanent residence. There are people walking around, biting into their hot dogs before leaving the line up at the food truck window.

Daryl looks around for a beat before nodding in the direction of the food, "You hungry? I'm starving." He starts walking so I fall into step beside him. His gruff exterior might look juxtapose next to my soft-yellow cardigan, but I don't notice any lingering eyes.

When we finish ordering, a friendly smile appears at the window, "That's 10 dollars even." Daryl has cash in his hands, and I pull out a bill to a disapproving look.

"No, I got this." Daryl says, but I shake my head.

"It's my treat! You drove me all the way out here." I hand the man my money, and begin to take the food. Daryl thanks me, and I can't discern the look on his face. It makes me pause, answering, "Anytime," with a soft smile.

Sitting across from him, the picnic table creaks slightly and the wind makes me shiver. He doesn't look at me, just eats, and eats fast. I pop a fry into my mouth and stare at the people around us. The couples around us. I'm reminded of why we came here in the first place.

"So, what do you do for fun?" I ask, and just about kick myself for how lame it sounds. Daryl's eyes snap up from his food, and he regards my question with a cool stare.

"For fun?" He repeats.

"Yeah."

"I have a feeling your idea of fun is a lot different than mine." He returns to eating and I feel tightness in my chest.

"Try me." I press on. He looks up again with a look of annoyance.

I breathe in deep, "That's why we're here, isn't it?" I gesture to the space between us and he runs his hand over his mouth, glancing around us like the information is classified.

"Hunting. Camping. Used to do a bit of fishing here and there."

"What do you hunt?" I ask, hoping he recognizes that I don't balk at his answer. He shrugs, and pulls out a cigarette.

"Whatever there is to hunt." I nod politely, even though I feel like it is a wasted effort.

"You ever been?" He asks.

"No. I'm not sure how good I would be at it."

"Everyone's gotta start somewhere." He returns, and I feel warmth in my cheeks despite the wind.

"What do you do for work?" I ask, gaining confidence. He stalls again, and I feel myself rushing to justify my question.

"Well, you know where I work, after all." He sucks the air in between his teeth.

"I just started at Joe's bike shop," Daryl looks past me, "though I suspect it's more for his benefit than mine." I sense the fear behind his words and I press my luck.

"So you don't work... _for_ Joe?" I can see he knows what I mean immediately. He face hardens.

"I'm not running is product or into his shit, if that's what you mean." I swallow, and fight back against his offended tone.

"Considering how we met...can you blame me for asking?" I try a light smile, and he responds with a shake of his head.

"Nah. Guess I can't." He looks at me hard for a second before he speaks again.

"How old are ya?" His face is narrow and my heart drops. Now I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of uncomfortable questions today.

"I'm nineteen." He swears, and sits straighter on the bench before running his hands through his hair.

"Yeah, you wouldn't be the first person to judge me by my age." I answer his silent display of exasperation. My voice is terse and I start eating my fries. I don't look up, but feel his eyes on my burning face.

"Ya gotta know what it makes me look like." He responds, and I meet his eyes.

"I've been here my whole life. This town is full of good and generous people. If I say we are together, they will give us the benefit of the doubt."

"You're putting a lot of faith in people that don't owe ya a damn thing."

"Maybe you should try it sometime." He huffs at my rebuttal, and I do my best to look stronger than I feel. He's quiet for a moment, and I feel badly for snapping.

"Listen, I didn't mean any harm." I reach out instinctively to touch his hand, and he flinches at my touch.

"Sorry." I whisper quickly. His face changes too quickly for me to identify why I have offended him.

I try to steady my accelerating heart. He actually doesn't like me at all. I want to tell him that it didn't seem like he hated physical contact when he was grabbing my arm with vigor over the last few days. Guess it's only okay when he initiates it.

My eyes narrow, "Listen, I'm sorry that you spoke up for me at The Songbird. I get that you don't like me, but if we are going to do this, you are going to have to try harder." For a split second it looks like he might disagree with my evaluation, but instead his mouth settles into a line.

"Yeah, let me worry about that." I sigh at his answer. Fine. Touching can take a back seat. I purposely clasp my hands in my lap, and take a deep breath.

"Where are you from?" I start again.

"Chatooga River."

"Got any family there?"

"It's just Merle and me." He answers, and I try to imagine what his life has been like up until this point.

"What's going to happen if Joe figures out we lied?" Daryl finally puts the cigarette that's been turning in his hand out of its misery, and into his mouth.

"He won't."

"How can you be so sure?" I ask, as he ignites his lighter. My voice wavers and I know that he can hear the fear behind each syllable.

He doesn't answer right away, and instead stares at me, taking a long drag of his smoke.

"Because I won't let it happen."


	6. Drinking

It's Thursday, and Joe's get together has to be the thing I'm looking forward to the least; having more awkward conversations with Daryl is a close second.

After our polarizing day of "getting to know each other," I've gotten nothing but radio silence from him. The quiet should concern me, but it doesn't. I stare at myself in the mirror. The only thing I had in my closet that was close to "biker-bar" was the black dress I wore to the funeral. My heart aches as I replay the memories woven into the very fiber of the garment.  Without my cardigan, and with my tall boots, it's nearly unrecognizable. Nearly. 

I straightened my hair, thinking maybe it would help make me look more mature. I'm not convinced it does, but there isn't time to change it now. I breathe in and apply a small amount of black eyeliner, courtesy of Maggie's unknowing generosity, and use my mascara to finish the job. Not bad.

I still look like me, so I am counting this as a success. My phone vibrates and I know its Daryl without looking. He's the only one who calls me.

I answer quickly, "Hello?"

"I'm out front." His voice is low and I sense trepidation. I want to tell him I'm not the weak link in our double life. He's not the one who should be worried.

"I'll be right out." I hit _end call_ and take one last breath before walking downstairs. Maggie has a late class at the university, and my dad is at the neighbor’s, helping them with their pregnant horse. I scribble a note that reads:

_Hi dad,_

_Gone out for the night, see you in the morning!_

_Love, Beth_

I know he will not be pleased by the note. The sooner I can work up the courage to ask Daryl to meet my dad, the better.

Stepping out into the night, there is a slight chill, and a glimmer in the sky as stars emerge. I lock my front door, and turn to towards the truck. Its lights cut through the dusk and blind me. I open the door with a familiar movement, and hope for the best.

"Hi." I offer, and his eyes drift over me as I buckle in. He lingers on me for a second, but says nothing. Suddenly I feel stupid. Maybe the outfit was a bad choice. I feel an overwhelming wave of self-consciousness wave over me.

"What?" I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

He looks away abruptly, "Nothing." He switches gears, and I bite my tongue. It's not like he's a good authority to offer fashion advice, anyways. The car ride is silent, which is fine by me. I text Patricia to distract myself from my nervousness. She responds quickly.

_Are you going to let me know what's going on?! Everyone is saying you're with some older guy who works with Joe??_

I reply:

_Long story. I'll have to fill you in when we work together next._

I feel Daryl's eyes on my illuminated face, and I put my phone down, resuming a thorough observation of the streetlights we pass. It doesn't take much self-reflection for me to admit I'm excited. This is by far the most interesting thing that's stumbled into my life in a long while.

...

It turns out Joe has bought this bar out for tonight; the place is packed, and the bouncer doesn't ask to see my ID, much to the relief of both Daryl and myself.

When we enter, Daryl takes my arm and pulls me through the crowd to a booth, occupied by an intoxicated Merle. He positions me in front of him, and motions for me to slide into the seat. I sigh. As he sits beside me, I realize what he's done. Pressing me as far into the booth as he can, it's clear Daryl doesn't want me to socialize. Merle's face darkens at the exchange, but is quickly distracted by some of Joe's men who bring over a round of drinks.

They place a few glasses on our table, full to the brim, and my stomach flips. Despite working at The Songbird, I haven't actually had a drink myself. Looking around me, I feel an overwhelming desire to change that.

"Try not to have too much fun." Merle says as he gets up, and follows the men to the bar.  I turn to Daryl, who looks uncomfortable at best. I select one of the drinks on the table, and pull it closer, inspecting it.

"I've never had a drink before." I admit out loud, and Daryl snaps to me.

"Well then you don't want to start with that." He pulls the drink back to the center of the table, and replaces it with something else. I smile.

"What is it?"

"A real drink." He answers plainly. My lips twist, and I take a sip. It tastes so awful I nearly spit it across the table.

"Good lord, you were _serious_." Daryl laughs at my contorted face and I cough, forcing myself to swallow. He pulls the drink out of my hand and takes a sip for himself.

"Guess you're not a fan of rye." He explains, taking another drink. I turn to him, my back against the wall of the booth, my smile in uncontainable.

"What else can I try?"

...

The bass of the music pulses through the air, the seat, and my limbs. When I look at my phone next, it's after midnight. Daryl's arm runs the length of the booth, his frame turned in to face my direction. Our table is littered with half-full glasses, and I feel an unfamiliar warmth creep into me.

In some ways, Daryl is a reliable escort. Anytime I need to go to the washroom, he follows me to the door, leaning against the wall like I'm a convict about to make a run for it. When he needs a smoke, he drags me out there with him; I shiver less and less with every new drink I try. I don't even mind the constant watchful eye he keeps on me, since it seems he's actually enjoying himself. A little bit. 

When we settle back into our seats, I can't keep the cloudy smile off of my face, "What's your favourite thing to eat?" I ask as I sample a shot of something blue. It's sour, but I like it.

He tips his beer back, finishing the bottle. It makes a loud noise when it hits the table. I have not kept up to him at all; his eyes have adopted a heavy lidded gaze as the night wears on.

"There was this barbecue joint Merle took me to once. It had the best brisket. Been hooked ever since." He nods his head in my direction, prompting me to answer my own question.

"Hmm. I've always had a soft spot for strawberry rhubarb pie." My stomach grumbles at the thought of food. I think I see the beginning of a smile ghost over his face at my answer.

Suddenly there is a clanging of glasses, and as Joe's figure climbs upon a table, I realize he's making a toast.

"Alright, listen up gentlemen. Most of you know the success I've had with The Songbird in Senoia. Well it looks like our reach has finally hit Kings County. Welcome to my newest acquisition - The Blue Robin." Loud applause fills the bar; banging fists and catcalls fill the air. Daryl turns in to me, and opens his mouth to speak before dropping his eyes to his drink.

This place is loud, and so crowded. For the moment, with Daryl's body as a human shield at the end of the booth, it feels like we are alone. A delirious feeling of sublime content fills me, and I finally understand; this is why people drink.

Daryl pulls his cigarette pack out of his pocket and tilts his head to the door, "Let's step out." My illusion of isolation disappears. He waits for me to scoot out, and he directs me to head outside, his weight a half step behind me.

I accepted earlier in the night that he preferred I walk in front of him. I can't think of a good reason why he insists, but as he reaches over my shoulder to open the door, I decide it's a moot point. The air is cold and I shiver instantly. We walk around to the side of the bar and he lights his cigarette with an effortless movement. His back is against the brick and he stares out into the darkness.

The warmth of the alcohol can't stop the frigid air from seeping into my bones this time. When he sees me shiver again, he presses his smoke between his lips, slinks his jacket off of his shoulders, and passes it to me in a seamless movement.

"Thank you." I reach for the fabric, which is warm to the touch. I'm taken aback by the gesture. I let myself believe that maybe he doesn't hate me after all. Wrapping it around my shoulders, a rush of scent hits my lungs. It smells like a forest and unmistakably male. I make an effort not to breathe in too deeply.

He mumbles something under his breath that I'm certain is, "You're welcome."

I know I'm smiling too widely as I look over his face, but I can't help it. As I open my mouth to speak I'm interrupted by a loud voice.

"Beth Greene?" I snap at the sound of my name. When I lock eyes with the man walking towards me, I feel my whole body freeze.

"Sheriff." I see Daryl stiffen at our exchange, and at the man in uniform. I hear Rick’s radio beep, and his partner heads back to the police cruiser.

"What are you doing here?" Rick asks, with an airy glance in Daryl's direction. I see Daryl step away from the wall, taking a position beside me. I feel the weight of Daryl's jacket, heavier than before under Rick’s gaze.

"Sherriff Grimes. This is Daryl Dixon, my date. Daryl, this is Sherriff Rick Grimes."  Rick sends a wary glance in Daryl’s direction at my words. An impossible second passes, and finally, mercifully, their hands extend to shake the others. It's a crisp movement, and when I glance in Daryl's direction, he looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Rick doesn't linger on Daryl's face, although he doesn't keep the surprise out of his eyes when he looks back at me.

"This ain't a part of town I expected to run into you at." He finally lies out.

"We were just leaving." I hear Daryl beside me, his hand finding it’s familiar hold on my arm. I do my best to smile calmly.

"You two been drinking?" Rick knows how far I live from here, and I suspect he's not so gently asking if I plan on driving home.

I laugh and motion down the road; "We are just going to crash at The Kings Head Inn for the night." Rick’s partner joins his side, and mutters something into his ear.

Rick turns at me, and then at Daryl for a second before laughing lightly, "Yeah, alright. I was young once, too." He shakes his head, and heads into the bar with his partner, "Have a good night, Beth." 

When he's out of sight, Daryl swears.

"You gon' tell me you're cozy with the _Sherriff_?" He spits, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair.

"I babysit for him sometimes." I answer defensively as I begin walking in the direction of the motel.

"Where you think you're going?" He asks.

"Kings Head Inn, remember?"

"Good lord. I ain't going to a motel with you." He stands defiant, and for a second, I think he's going to ask for his jacket back. From inside the bar, I can hear yelling and the sound of shattering glass. Daryl's face drops, and he walks towards me.

"We don't have time to argue about this-" I'm interrupted by his iron grip on my arm. I roll my eyes at the touch. He takes off towards the motel and I nearly run to keep up with him.

"You win this round, princess." He spits, pulling out his phone.

"I'm _not_ a princess." I snap, and I hate myself for even caring what he thinks of me.

"Merle. I got out of there, call me when you get this." He slams his phone shut, and presses on down the road.

"I'm not a rag doll, can you slow down?" I ask, my arm aching. He drops my arm and I rub it gingerly.

We walk towards the reception desk in silence, although he slows his stride to match my own. The woman behind the counter looks tired, and her eyebrow hitches at the sight of us. 

"How much for a room?" Daryl asks, and the woman smacks her gum around in her mouth. Her nametag is faded, and the faint outline of "Becky" is etched into the yellowing plastic.

"At this hour, half-rate is $50. Check out time is 11 a.m. Unless you're just looking for an hour." She stares plainly at us, her eyes pausing on me before bouncing back to Daryl. I try not to balk at the suggestion.

"We will take a room for the night." I clarify, and she laughs lightly at my offence. Daryl places money on the counter and she hands over a key. I take it before Daryl has a chance.

"Thanks for choosing Kings Head Inn." Her boredom with us is apparent. I force a thank you, and turn on my heel, feeling Daryl close behind.

When I slide the key into the slot it makes an angry noise; a red dot signals denied entry. Daryl makes a sound of frustration, and I try again. The red dot taunts me, and Daryl whips the plastic out of my hands.

"Give it here." He asks after he has the card in his hands. The warmth from the alcohol has faded from my veins, and in its place is exhaustion. Who knew having fun could be so tiring? A happy ding tells me he was successful, although I'm inclined to ignore it.

Stepping into the room, there is a single bed, and a beaten chair. I sigh. Of course there's only one bed.

Daryl slams the door shut, and the sluggish way he moves tells me his buzz hasn't faded like mine.

"I'm going to shower." I feel sticky, and when I hear him flop back on the bed, I take my exit. The steam from the shower fills the room fast, no ventilation to speak of, and I undress in record time. I scrub my face; the heat from the water is heaven to my skin.

I nearly slip when I hear a pound on the door, "I gotta take a piss." I hear, and I swear as I press a hand against my racing heart.

"It's unlocked." I call out to him, and after a beat, I feel, more than hear, the door open with a flood of cool air.

"It's like a damn sauna in here." He declares as he stumbles to the toilet. I stand still behind the curtain as he does his business.

"Whatcha doing leaving doors unlocked?" He asks as he flushes the toilet, and I wince as the water turns to ice.

"I guess I'm not afraid of who might come in." I run my head under the warming stream. He mumbles something I can't decipher, and I hear the door shut with a thud.

Getting back into my dress is torture. I wrap my hair in a towel and open the door slowly. The TV is on, volume so low it does little more than cast a flickering color of light across the room. Daryl has made himself comfortable on the bed...and has fallen asleep. I sigh.

I walk in front of him to test the depth of his slumber. He doesn't show any signs of recognition. His chest is rising in a lulled beat; a faint snore fills the rhythm. I smile at the sight.

Not so mysterious now, huh?

"Daryl?" I ask to silence. His name sounds different from my lips, and I'm glad he doesn't hear it. He has left his boots on. They hang just off the curve of the mattress, a layer of dirt falling from his soles with every movement. 

I open drawers until I find a spare blanket; it's worse for wear but it's better than nothing. I curl up in the chair, watching the television light dance around the room. After a few minutes, I sigh in frustration. I'm not falling asleep in this chair.

His dark outline contrasts the faint pink flowers of the bedspread. I stand, and move to the bed slowly. Would it really be the worst thing if I just got a little sleep?

As I look at his exposed form, I gingerly drape the blanket over him. His shoes are loosely tied, and I slip them off, never taking my eyes off of his face to see if he so much as flinches. He doesn't. I place them by the door, and walk to the unoccupied side of the bed.

Since he so gallantly passed out on our only sleeping surface, I don't feel so bad about my decision to cocoon myself under the bedspread. I slide in next to him and breathe. It's a million times more comfortable than the chair. His weight on top of the bedding means I only have a small amount of room to move, but in this moment, it is more than I could have asked for.

I have never fallen asleep with the TV on, but it's not that bad. In the multicoloured light, the ceiling looks enchanted.

"I had fun tonight." I speak quietly into the room. He doesn't stir, and I smile.

Even though layers of blankets separate us, his body radiates an incredible amount of heat. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he had a fever. I decide it won't hurt him if I press into the warmth, and follow him into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I know everything that can be said, has been said about the MSF. I'm not sure if there's an audience for Bethyl anymore. I guess since any work I write in the future of Bethyl will be AU, I'm still interested in finishing this if you are still interested in reading it.


	7. Watching, Waiting

My eyes open to a blur of light. A cursory glance and reach reveals I'm alone in the bed. I hear the bathroom door shut, and I realize what has woken me.

I stare at the ceiling and take in the sunshine. The TV is still on, and I absentmindedly start flipping through the channels. Friday mornings are filled with nothing but soap operas and talk shows so I settle on the least offensive talk show, and stretch out to every corner of the mattress.

When I hear the shower start, I gingerly roll out of bed and get my bearings. I run my fingers through my hair and curse myself for going to bed with wet hair. It's a curly mess. I step into my boots, grab the room key, and slip out of the motel room.

There's a convenience store around the corner and I walk over, enjoying the fresh air. I grab myself a peppermint tea, and for Daryl, a black coffee. After a second of hesitation, I pick up a couple muffins, some gum, and a collapsible brush.

When I get back to the room, Daryl is still in the shower. I place our drinks, and the muffins, on the little side table by the chair. I pop some gum into my mouth, and begin brushing the tangled mess on my head from the edge of the bed. After a few minutes I start to feel more human. 

Some time later, I begin to think maybe he's left through the bathroom window. I sip my tea, and wait a beat before walking over and knocking on the paint-peeled door. 

No answer.

I feel a rise of concern in my chest but I try to stay rational. He wouldn’t just leave, would he?

"Daryl?" I ask, and nothing but silence follows.  I shift my weight from one foot to the other; a million worst-case scenarios run through my mind.

I place my tea on the table and walk over to the door, placing my ear against the wood. I hear nothing but the unrelenting stream of the shower. I place a hesitant hand on the doorknob, and test the resistance - there is none. I decide to try one more time.

"Daryl?" I call out, and once again I'm met with silence. I curse, and glance around the room. He’s been in there for so long. Too long.  

I turn the knob and gently press the door open. In a fast second I can see the flesh of his back. He realizes my presence, and his towel-wrapped form whips around and slams the door, nearly taking my fingertips off with the movement. 

My heart races. "You ever heard of knocking?" His shout through the door makes me back up. The image of his back, tattooed shoulder, and angry red lines of scar tissue are filling my thoughts.

"I tried knocking." I shout back, standing paralyzed for a second. My chest feels white hot, and the unrelenting question repeating in my mind is, who did that to him? 

It takes me a second to gather my thoughts.

"When you didn't answer I worried-" the door opens, interrupting my yelling match with the peeling wood. He's dressed now, and his hair slicked back from the shower makes him look young. Vulnerable. Or maybe that's my fault too.

"Worried what?" He cuts me off. "You don't need to worry about me girl, I ain't your concern." His words feel sharp, and for a second I fight back the sting of tears. He grabs his jacket, the one he had offered to me just hours ago, and I blink. I watch him grab his boots and sit on the edge of the bed.

"I didn't mean to walk in on you." I say after a beat, and he looks up at me as he begins to tie his laces. The lines on his face smooth out slightly, but he doesn't say anything. I sigh, walking towards the bathroom.

"I brought you some breakfast." I motion to the coffee and muffins on the table, and turn to shut the bathroom door before he can tell me it ain't my concern to feed him.   

As I splash the cold water over my face, I make every effort to erase the vivid outline of his form against the stark white of the bathroom tile.

...

When I leave the bathroom, the coffee and one of the muffins are missing from the side table. I can see through the window, blinds askew, that he's smoking, coffee in hand. I collect my things, and grab my tea. The leftover muffin looks too good to ignore, so I plop into the chair and start eating the chocolate chip goodness.  

The door swings open, and his shape fills the doorway. A gust of cool air fills the room.

"It's almost 11. We gotta take off." He seems decidedly less agitated, and I send him a small smile.

"Okay sounds good." I pick up my stuff and follow him out of the room. He mutters something about dropping off the room key, and I wait outside while he speaks to reception.

The walk back to his truck is mostly quiet. I sip my tea and try to enjoy the scenery. When the bar is in sight, he clears his throat.

"Thanks for breakfast." He says it fast, like ripping off a band aid, and I can't help but turn to him.

"You're welcome." He sends a sideways glance at my bubbling features. I think I have an actual bounce in my step.

"Did you hear back from your brother?"

"No. He might not have checked his phone yet." He sounds more concerned than he means to let on. We approach the truck and he unlocks the passenger door, opening it widely for me to pull myself into the seat.

I clear my throat when he settles in next to me.

"About earlier-"

"S'nothing." He cuts me off and starts the engine.  His tone tells me to drop it. I purse my lips and glance out the window, a familiar feeling of distance settling between us.

In the silence, his phone ringing startles me back to reality. 

"Yeah?" He answers. I can't hear the voice on the other end of the line, but Daryl's face darkens immediately. A few stilted grunts of acknowledgement later, Dary's defeated voice murmurs, "Yeah. I'll come down right away." He snaps his phone shut, and tosses it roughly into the center console.

"Is everything okay?" I ask quietly. Daryl shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Merle got himself picked up last night. I need to head to the station." I nod slowly as I put the pieces together. He must have been arrested after Sherriff Grimes showed up. I feel guilty by association.  

"Do you want me to come along?" I ask in case he wants support.  

"If I brought a different shoulder to cry on every time Merle shit the bed, no one would be left to bring." He answers, pulling into my driveway.

I sigh and turn to Daryl, who is staring out the window, fingers thrumming on his lap. 

"Thanks for the ride." I offer curtly, and open the door to the truck. I hop out, a weak smile on my lips as I shut the door and head towards my house. I just about turn around when I hear him pull out of the driveway - he normally waits for me to get inside.

Before I can properly think, a deep voice cuts through the air.

"Well hello pretty lady." My heart seizes. It's Joe. 

I drop my keys, and try to look anything but guilty.

"Joe...What can I help you with?" I smile, and pick my keys up from the ground. "You gave me quite the fright." Joe steps to me with an uneven smile.

"Well Beth, I am hoping you can help me out with a bit of a mystery." I pretend his words pique my interest.

"Oh? What's that?" 

"What good reason would a young blonde thing have with dating an old redneck, who can’t offer nothing?" My blood runs cold.

"And why, do you think," Joe continues, "that blonde would be seen chatting with the Sheriff of Kings County minutes before he comes in and arrests half my men?" He has stalled in front of me now, eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. I smooth out my features and smile lightly.

"It's true that I know Sheriff Grimes; I babysit his daughter. But I hadn't spoken to him in weeks before last night." My heart is beating frantically. "And if you think Daryl is just some old redneck, you don't know him at all."

My face feels hot, and Joe grazes me with a deciphering look. 

"Well, maybe there's no mystery at all!" Joe exclaims with fraudulent enthusiasm.

"I must say that would be most beneficial." As if on que, a truck pulls into my driveway, and Joe walks over to it.

"I gave myself a tour of your father's farm; what a wonderful piece of real estate. It would be an awful loss if some damage were to occur to all that expensive equipment locked up in the barn.” He motions behind himself with a vague gesture. 

I can feel my face fall; I'm about to speak when he cuts me off -

"But since there's no mystery, that shouldn't be an issue, should it?" When I stare at him with an icy dead stare he smiles wide, and hops into the truck; giving me a quick wave as they take off down the road.

I wait until they are out of sight before I run into my house, tears blurring my vision.

"Dad!?" I scream into the silent air. "Maggie!?" I run up the stairs, taking two at a time. Taped to my door is a note.

_Beth,_

_Ran out to do some errands. Be home in time for dinner._

_Missed you last night._

It's my dad's sloppy script. I breathe out, and hold the note to my chest. Fingers shaking, I dial Daryl's number. He answers on the second ring.

"Yeah."

"Daryl," my voice cracks, "when you left...Joe was here. He threatened me. He threatened to-"

"He was at your house?" Daryl interrupts.

"Yes." I shake as I say it. 

"I'll be right there." I swear I can hear the snap of his ancient phone, and I feel the weight on my chest ease slightly.

I wipe my cheeks, standing slowly and pushing the door to my room open. I throw on something more comfortable than the dress. I thank god my dad didn't see me in it.

After a few moments, I can’t stand the tacky feeling the tears had left on my skin. I enter the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. A loud pounding at the front door startles me. I freeze and feel my body lurch.

I walk gingerly down the stairs, and quietly look through the peephole. My heart flips with relief. It's Daryl.

I swing the door open, more than relieved to see him on my porch. I watch him look over me, and his concern heightens when he meets my eyes. He braces himself against the doorframe.

"Are you alright?" My shoulders roll under the weight of his undivided attention.

"Yes." It sounds like I've just caught my breath.

"Shouldn't have left." He mumbles under his breath, looking like he suddenly didn't know what else to say.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask, and I know he can tell how much I’m hoping he doesn't decline.

"Sure." He answers, not without a hint of wariness. 

Daryl steps in like the threshold might take him into another dimension. I hide my smile. He closes the door and looks around; hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from getting your brother." 

"It's nothing. He makes me wait enough of the time, it's 'bout time he had a taste of his own medicine."

I nod, and wring my fingers together.

"What did he say?" His voice is low. I take a deep breath, shifting my weight.

"He wasn't very pleased with the fact that someone saw me talking to the Sheriff a few minutes before their night went south." Daryl huffs with laughter and my heart seems to find its normal pace. 

"Yeah I bet."

"He...basically said he thought you and I...being together...was suspicious. And then he threatened the farm. He took off pretty quick; I think he meant to let me know I'm on seriously thin ice." Daryl's face is creased.

"Then we'll just have to make sure we stay in his good graces for awhile." I want to ask him how, when another thought erupts from my mouth.

"Why did you and your brother want to work with him anyways? He's not a good man." I bite my lip and look away, wishing I hadn't said anything.

"I didn't- "he starts, "you wouldn't get it." I roll my eyes at his dismissal. When will he stop being so mysterious?

"I think I might." I answer, and he stares at me for a few seconds.

"There's no talking to Merle. He's a freight train, runs his own course." 

I'm so happy he actually answers me that I don't think I keep the surprise off of my features. 

"But what about you?" I ask. He shuffles in my doorway. There is something about him that makes it hard not to be curious.

"He's always taken me along for the ride, just the way it is." He stares at the photos lining the wall up the length of the staircase. My family's smiling faces beaming into the sunlight. He breathes in and speaks again.

"I didn't want to keep skipping from town to town. When we left the last place I told myself that I was done; told him too." He shakes his head, and I process the words that hang between us. 

"You don't have to leave." I say quietly.

"If things keep sinking south, I won't have much of a choice." He voice is gruff, but at least he's looking at me. I rub my eyes. I guess this is the price you pay for wanting a little excitement in life. 

"You work tonight?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"I gotta get Merle. I'll see you when you finish work." I want to protest- maybe I have plans tonight - but I don't. So I smile and catch the tail end of his scent as he turns to the door.

"Thanks for coming." I say as I take ahold of the door.

"Don't worry about it. And don't worry about what happened with Joe. I'll fix it." The absoluteness in his voice absolves me of any lingering doubt.  

I close the door behind him, and watch his truck disappear from behind the curtains. 

When I get back to my room, I grab my journal. I don’t think I have had a chance to use this damn thing since the night all of this started. I flip through the pages, random bits and pieces of my thoughts lining the pages. 

I lie on my bed, and find a blank page. After a few minutes, I bring my pen to the familiar paper.

_If you are a cliffhanger ending,_

_I’m the one that doesn’t know anything._

_Like a magpie and a ring,_

_I am always going to be looking right to you._

_Oh, you capture my attention._

_I’m anticipating,_

_I’m watching, I’m waiting_

_For you to make your move._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been awhile - so to make up for it, I created a little playlist for this fic! You can reach it here: http://8tracks.com/knoxedfiction/bethyl-soundtrack-event-horizon
> 
> Beth's journal entry is one of the songs in the playlist - and is the sole creation of Lights, and her adorable song Toes.


	8. Dancing

The next few days are quiet. When he's not at work, Daryl takes his usual seat at The Songbird. We both take notice of the leather wrapped henchmen that seem to hang around, but they keep their distance. 

Daryl becomes my personal driver, and when we notice a pair of headlights behind us, we kill a few hours at his motel. He seems to have relaxed enough so that our awkward silences have transitioned into comfortable silences. That's progress, right? I am telling myself it is.

I lie to Patricia. 

I can't take any chances with Joe, so when she finally corners me and demands I explain myself, I put on an infatuated look. 

"He's…like no one I've ever met." That is mostly true. Although I gush, I am almost glad when she looks at me in disbelief. 

It takes some convincing, but finally, she mutters, "If you like him, I like him." She gives me a small smile, and the squeeze of her hand on my arm makes me realize how much I've missed her. 

The calm doesn't last for long. 

Tonight is as busy as it's ever been. The place is packed for our open-mic night, although I never feel the weight of Daryl's gaze lift from my shoulders as I move in and out of the crowd. 

His empty glass brings me to his table, where he motions for me to sit. 

I slide in, nearly out of breath. 

"Hey." I smile, and look at his tired eyes. 

"Joe is having a gathering tonight. We gotta go." Hello to you too, I think bitterly. 

"Sure." 

"By the sounds of things, it's going to be a late night. You should down some coffee." I suck the air in between my teeth.

"Listen, I've been putting off asking you, but...I can't keep my dad in the dark about this for much longer." 

"What's tha'supposed to mean?" His eyes narrow. 

"My dad wants to meet you." He pauses at my words. 

"What do you need me to do?" I'm surprised he doesn't immediately shut me down.

"Well, he wants you to come for dinner. At our house." 

He is quiet for a long while. I look down at my lap, and take a deep breath. The music is loud enough that I can pretend I don't hear Sean calling me back to work. 

"If you don't want to-" 

"I'll do it." He cuts me off, and I know my smile reaches my ears. 

"Really?" 

He nearly grimaces at my excitement, so I decide to quit while I'm ahead. Jumping up out of my seat, I grab his empty glass. 

"I'm not closing tonight, so I'll probably be cut in an hour." He sends a grunt of understanding in my direction, and I disappear into the crowd before he can change his mind about anything. 

... 

When I change out of my work clothes, I'm in faded blue jeans and white tank. Patricia catches me in the bathroom staring at my clothes, and she shakes her head. She pops out and returns with a smile. 

"You can borrow this." She pulls a trendy long cardigan out of her bag. 

"I owe you, big time." After slipping it over my shoulders, I'm amazed what a little layering will do. 

Patricia shrugs, "Nah, what are friends for?" She looks nervously down at her hands and I nudge her arm. 

"Something on your mind?" She looks around for a second, before nodding slightly. 

"Yeah. Uh...you know Jimmy? Of course you know Jimmy," she rambles, "well we had been talking and hanging out and now-" 

She trails off and I smile.

"And now...you're dating?" I prompt. 

"Yeah." She looks me in the eye. "Is that weird for you?" I laugh a bit, despite myself. 

"Of course not! I know we were together for awhile but, I've moved on." I didn't realize how true that was until this very minute. Patricia's face breaks into relief. 

"You have no idea how much I've worried about this." She pulls me into a hug. I laugh, and tell her I'm happy for them. 

My cell vibrates, and I look at the text from Daryl: 

Hurry up. 

I purse my lips, and Patricia stands up straighter, "I have the perfect lipstick for you!" 

She hands over a tube, inside is the truest red I've ever seen. 

"I can't, this is way too dark-" 

"Don't be silly! Put it on, and then blot it. It will leave a nice lip stain." I laugh at her advice, and take the tube. 

"When did you become a beauty expert?" I run the stick over my lips, and grab a piece of paper towel. 

"When people started looking." She answers with a shrug. I blot a few times and realize she's right. I look twice as cool as I did five minutes ago. 

"Thank you." I say with earnest. 

"Any time." 

I go to hand her back the lipstick but she shakes her head. 

"Keep it for tonight." 

With another round of thanks, I'm out the door, and into Daryl's truck. 

... 

We pull up to a large house on a heavily treed cul-da-sac. I can hear the thump of bass before I open the truck door. 

Daryl hasn't said much; I'm sure I imagined the slight slack of his jaw when he caught a glimpse of my bright red lips. 

It's all “business as usual” with him. He waits for me to walk toward the house, his footsteps not far behind my own. 

"Should I knock?" I ask just as the door swings open. 

"Well if it isn't my favourite brother!" Merle asks, a bottle of rum dangling from his fingers.

"Save any of that for the rest of the party?" Daryl asks with a just a hint of a smile. Merle's face falls into a false look of shock. 

"That ain't no way to speak to your elder, Darylina. Get in here." Merle steps back from the doorway and takes a long swig from the bottle, never breaking eye contact with Daryl. I laugh at the exchange, and Merle's face lights up. 

"She gets it, Daryl. Why don't you?" Looking over at Daryl, I can see he's anything but impressed. Merle reaches over and snags Daryl’s pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as we enter the doorway. 

The house is packed, people are laughing, drinking, dancing. It's a rough crowd, and I know it's entirely my appearance that is attracting these stares. We follow Merle downstairs, where it's slightly less congested. 

A wooden bar built into the house is stockpiled, and Merle motions to some couches, "Take a seat. First round's on me." Merle laughs at his own joke, and I follow his lead. I take a position on a surprisingly comfortable leather loveseat leaving room for Daryl. Daryl sits across from me, to no ones surprise, and I lean back, crossing my arms and legs in a simultaneous movement. 

"We at a funeral or something?" Merle asks as he approaches the table. I smile politely and Daryl looks exasperated. Merle has impressively carried three beers and three clear shots over, placing them on the coffee table. 

"Cheers, to the most depressing people at the party." He raises his shot glass, and Daryl slides his back over to Merle. 

"I'm driving." Merle laughs dangerously, and slides the shot to me. 

"Ladies first." He looks pointedly at Daryl, and shakes his head. "You tryin' to piss me off?" Daryl doesn't answer his brother. 

I raise the shot glass, and Merle finally breaks his stare to reluctantly clink glasses with me. It tastes awful, and I cough horribly. When I regain composure, I see Merle's gone back to staring Daryl down like he's being paid to do it. 

"Think maybe you could make a little effort?" Merle asks, leaning in. "I don't think I need to remind you of what's hanging in the balance." 

"I am making an effort." 

"You fucking ain't. But you're gonna." Merle stretches out and lays his arm along the back of the sofa behind me. They stare at each other for a beat, and I take a sip of beer. 

I am about to clear my throat to end my discomfort, when Merle turns in towards me, smile as sincere as the Cheshire Cat. 

"Well darlin' why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself." I feel my neck snap towards him, a feeling of uncertainty creeping over me. Seeing my hesitation, Merle smiles. 

"Come on, this'll be fun." I glance at Daryl, whose jaw is set, eyes fixed on Merle's smile. 

"Well...what do you want to know?" I ask, shifting under his state. 

"How long you lived here?" 

"My whole life." 

"By the looks of you, I imagine you should be off at college." He doesn't ask, but I answer him anyways. 

"I don't know what I want to do yet." It's the truth. 

"What are you good at?" 

I balk at the question. “I guess I haven't figured that out, either." 

"Ya' must have something in your pocket." Merle finishes his beer with a long swig.

"Well...I guess I do a bit with music. Singing and songwriting..." I trail off because I become instantly embarrassed. "Honestly it's nothing. It's barely a hobby." I backtrack, but Merle waves his hand in front of me like he can physically clear away the bullshit that just came out of my mouth. 

"You ever sing at The Songbird?" He asks. 

I can feel my face flush, "Not a chance." 

"Come on now, I bet half the town would come down if they heard you were the one behind the microphone." I feel warmth reach my cheeks at the compliment. Merle huffs lightly, and he finally looks away from me to meet Daryl's stare dead on. 

"See, baby brother? That's how easy it is." For second I don't know what he means, and suddenly it falls into place. 

That's how easy it is to flirt with someone. I roll my eyes, but I hate to admit that it worked enough for him to make his point. Looking around, I realize how his arm on the couch frames my shoulders, his body turned in towards me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. 

"Darylina, why don't you get us another round?" Merle laughs as he leans further back into the sofa. 

"I ain't getting you shit." Daryl bites back. 

"Can't you see the lady and I are in conversation?" Daryl swears, and walks over to the unattended basement bar. When Merle turns back to me, his face is a shade cooler. 

"My brother hasn't ever been much good at this," he circles the air between us, "but he also ain't ever been much good at sharin'." I feel my brows crease. 

"Sharing what-" I'm interrupted by Daryl's return, his icy glare drifts from Merle to the floor. 

I know that look. In an instant I understand exactly what Merle means. Sharing me. I think Merle overestimates the amount Daryl cares, and definitely overestimates my willingness to play games. 

I stiffen in my seat. Loud rock music begins thrumming through the basement; a few women shriek with laughter. The basement begins to fill, and a few start dancing around the unmanned bar. 

"Whatcha say we give those stems a chance to move?" Merle asks, jerking his hand in the direction of the dancing crowd forming behind us. 

"I don't-" 

"Wasn't really a question.” Merle interrupts, grabbing my wrist. I glance at Daryl who seems to see right through us. Merle pulls us to the middle of the dance floor and extends our arms, prompting a twirl. I follow his lead; the dance floor is dotted with eyes that don't know me, and I catch their eyebrows hitch at the sight of me. 

Merle certainly has confidence. He laughs as he pulls me around the room. We draw a bit of attention to ourselves with his grandiose ballroom-style dance moves. I smirk despite myself. When he bows me over in a dip, I stand up laughing. A couple of guys at the bar clap, raising their glasses. 

Merle pulls me in close, and speaks into my ear, "Just like clock work, baby doll." I send him a confused look that dissolves when Daryl's outline fills my vision. His face is set in an unreadable line. 

"Hate to interrupt you two," Daryl starts, no regret in his voice, "but I need my smokes." He looks at Merle. After a beat, Merle fishes into his pocket and pulls out his beaten pack. I see my opportunity to act fading. 

"I'll go with you." Daryl's eyes flash to me in an instant, but he otherwise largely ignores my offer. A gruff noise of acknowledgement finally escapes him, and I catch Merle smirk out of the corner of my eye. 

Daryl turns, and I follow him as he makes his way up the basement stairs. He doesn't look back to see if I'm following, but holds the front door open for me as he steps out into the night. 

I instantly shiver, despite Patricia’s sweater. Daryl walks away from the house, towards his truck. 

"We're leaving." He spits. My thoughts stall at his words. 

"But, I left my purse-" Daryl lifts his leather jacket open, pulling out my clutch - he tosses it over to me as he rounds the truck. I catch the purse badly, and I feel myself sour at his cold demeanor. 

I hear the click of the car unlocking, and I open the door, getting in with a huff. Before he has chance to start the engine, I turn to him. 

"What's your problem?" I ask. He starts the truck, pulling out of the driveway with unnecessary speed. He doesn't answer, just takes off down the road with enough force to send me hard back into my seat. I buckle my seatbelt, heart racing. 

I'm annoyed, especially when I think about the fact that whatever Merle had wanted, it certainly wasn't for us to leave Joe and his watchful goons. 

"You know, I think the point of us going tonight was to make a good impression with Joe. That's hard to do if we aren't there." I stare at him, but he doesn't react to my voice. 

I look out the window, the scenery whipping past us in the dark. "Where are we going?" I ask, not recognizing a thing around me. 

He doesn't answer, and I feel my irritation boil over. 

After a beat, he looks in my direction. "He seems harmless but he ain't." I want to ask if that's why he pulled me out of there at lightning speed, or if it was because his brother wanted to show me some dance moves. And does he really think I can't handle myself?

"He is like a walking chainsaw. Destroys everything in his path," Daryl continues, "even if he doesn't mean to." 

"We were just having fun." I try. He sucks in the air with a sharp breath and looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. 

"Me and him; we ain't the same." What does that even mean? Is Daryl suggesting that he is the fun brother?

"What makes you so different?" I ask, and he falls silent for a beat. 

"If you're lucky, you'll never have to find out." After a sharp turn, I can see trees illuminated by the headlights. He's driving me into the woods. 

It doesn't take long before we stop, and Daryl kills the engine, plunging us both into darkness. Maybe I should be scared that a near-stranger has driven me to a secluded spot in the woods, but it fails to stick. Daryl gets out of the truck, and pulls out his cigarette. As he lights, I think maybe he didn't smoke in the truck for my benefit. I smile. 

I step out to join him, walking around the truck with trepidation. 

"What is this place?" I ask, and he turns to me.

"Good spot to get directions." He points up at sky, framed by the trees. The stars appear laser bright. 

"We lost?" I ask, and he catches my eyebrow hitching at the question. He doesn't answer, and instead steps up onto the front bed of his truck, leaning his back against the windshield. 

"Listen, I think we should go-" I'm interrupted by his clipped voice. 

"We ain't going back to that place." He takes a drag of his cigarette as he stares up at the stars. I sigh, cold and confused. He shifts on the truck, moving away from me. 

"Might as well get comfortable." He says, motioning at the space next to him. I mutter under my breath, and try to retrace his actions. My limbs aren't as long as his, and it makes the whole process a little more impossible. Pressing his cigarette between his lips, he extends a hand; "Come 'ere." 

His hand pulls me up until I have the leverage I need to get situated next to him. I let out a shaky breath when my back hits the windshield. It's freezing. Patricia’s sweater is too thin to offer any warmth. Daryl sits up, pulling off his jacket and hands it over in a fluid movement. 

"Thanks." I sling the leather around my shoulders and lean back, very content with the warmth it provides. I stifle a yawn, and try to find a constellation I recognize. It's late, and it doesn't look like Daryl is in a rush to leave the windshield lounge chair he has created. After a few minutes of silence, Daryl mumbles into the night.

“What kind of music do you sing?” I feel my eyes go wide.

“Uh, well I guess a little bit country…mostly acoustic stuff.” 

“Huh.” He responds, and I think it might be the best start to a conversation we have had yet. 

"I'm thinking that you should probably come by for dinner this week." I try to keep my tone conversational, and my eyes begin to adjust to the dark. 

"This week ain't great." I feel my heart drop at his words. I turn to face his expressionless face. 

"I can't make any more excuses. I'm on thin ice-" 

"Listen, I said I'd do it and that means I'm going to do it," he cuts me off, "I ain't going to bail on the 'meet the parents' part of the deal." My face feels hot at his short temper. 

"Parent." I counter defiantly. I can feel him still beside me, and I take comfort in the fact that at least he's reacting. 

"Parent," he repeats, "your folks divorced?" No, it's the awful kind of parent. I feel a lump form in my throat, and I realize that maybe I shouldn't have clarified why it's just my dad he will be meeting. 

"My mom...she and my brother - they died two years ago in a car accident." I feel the air pause in space, the horrible truth lingering around me as vivid as the very first time I said it out loud. 

When I take my eyes away from the stars, he's looking at me. Not glancing, not flickering. Actually looking. I can only hold his stare for a moment before my eyes begin to burn, and I find an excuse to play with the zipper on his jacket. My chest aches, and I bite my lip to pull myself back to reality. 

"My mom died when I was real young." Daryl's voice is soft, and I chance a look in his direction. His eyes are closed, and I make out the crease in his features through the darkness. 

I know the last thing he wants to hear is, "I'm sorry," because it's the last thing I want to hear. I reach my out of the warmth of Daryl's jacket, and press my hand into his. For a long second I think he might pull away, but he doesn't. 

I close my eyes and allow the radiating warmth from our intertwined fingers to wash over me. 

“I meant it when I said I was busy – your Sherriff friend called me. Wants me to come down to the station.” 

My interest piques through my exhaustion, “Really? Why?”

“No idea. Can’t say that he gave me much choice.”

“Ha, sounds like Rick.” I feel Daryl’s eyes shift to me, and I smile. We fall quiet, and I can hear the world around us with unparalleled clarity. With a deep breath, I relax against his windshield.

 

I must fall asleep. I wake in Daryl's arms as he lays me gingerly in the passenger seat. My eyes feel heavier than I thought possible. By the time he starts the engine, I feel myself slipping back into nothingness. 

"Hey." His voice is soft, and I open my eyes to see the outline of my house. I clear my throat, sliding his jacket off of my shoulders. I find my purse at my feet, and check my phone. 3:26. That is…not great. I sigh, looking at my windows for any trace of light. 

When I turn to look back at Daryl, his eyes are on me, but he doesn't meet my eyes. One arm over the steering wheel, the other hanging from the corner of his mouth. I think of a hundred things to say, but nothing seems right. 

I have a small smile as I gather my things, “Thanks for the ride.”

He nods as I shut the door and walk towards my front porch.


	9. Dreaming

After a good night’s sleep, I can't help but think some progress has been made. I know he didn't have to mention his mother just because I did, but I'm glad he did. Maybe he will realize we aren't so different after all. 

No matter his distance, my hand still burns from his reluctant grip - I feel it the moment my eyes open. I roll around in bed until I accept I'm awake for good. I replay the night over and over until I can't stop myself from pulling my notebook out, empty pages beckoning me. I pull out a pen and let it write for me:

_No I've never seen the sky,_

_as vanilla as tonight,_

_and it's here I hold you close,_

_when I finally close my eyes._

_And it never fails:_

_the sun comes up, the story dies,_

_and I don't know why._  

+

By the time I leave The Songbird the following day without a text from the elusive Daryl Dixon, I try not to acknowledge the pang of disappointment in my chest.

I head home without turning the radio on. In the cool midnight air, I miss Daryl's unnatural radiating heat. Who would have thought? I shouldn't be missing anything about him at all. It doesn’t stop me from feeling cold the whole way home.

I open the door to darkness. My dad must be sleeping. I forgot how empty my real life is...and when did I start feeling like a stranger in my own home?

I strip out of my clothes the second my bedroom door closes. I pull on an old hoodie and leggings, yawning as I turn on my small TV. From my pocket on the floor I hear the buzz of my cell phone. The buzz is relentless, and I dive for the floor realizing it’s a call.

My stomach flips at Daryl's name.

"Hello?"

"You sleepin'?" I bite my tongue from making a smart remark.

"No, I just got home from work." There is a pause at the end of the line.

"I'm outside. You got a second?" The rush of adrenaline at his words spills through me.

"Yeah. I'll be right out." I take a deep breath before I head back downstairs, careful not to disrupt the quiet layer that has settled around me. My purse catches on the stair banister, and I swear softly at the loud creak it causes.

When I step outside, it's pitch black, save for the stars. I hop into his truck, rubbing my hands together. 

"Hi." I greet him.

"Hi." He returns, with pointedly less enthusiasm. I pause, giving him a chance to explain our midnight meeting. Slowly, he backs onto the road, finally turning on his headlights after we pass the line of my father’s farm.

"Rick. How did ya say you know him?" Daryl asks, eying me from the drivers seat.

Oh. I guess it's a business meeting, then. "He has a young daughter, and I used to babysit for him and his ex-wife. He's called me a few times to help out since he's been on his own."

"Ex?"

"Yeah...he's been divorced for a year."

"Just got the daughter?"

"No, he has a son...young teen."

"He a dirty cop?" I do a double take at his brashness.

"No. Not Rick. Not ever." I watch him nod slowly to himself as my vision narrows on him.

"Want to let me in on what's happening?" I ask.

"I spoke to him today; just figured I would run a record check on him. Keep things even." He keeps a smooth outline to his mouth, but it seems pinched.

After a beat I feel my eyes squint, "What did he want to talk to you about?"

He looks over at me, weighing the air between us.

"He's got a job for me," he starts, "it ain't totally a choice." For some reason, I can’t get my head around the thought of Rick offering Daryl a job.

"Doing what?" I ask.

Daryl sucks the air in between his tight-set teeth.

"Your boss is a real piece of work, ya know that?" I feel my face scrunch at his transition.

"Joe? What does he have to do with this?"

"He's in the process of shipping heroin - a lot of it - and Rick knows. I don't know how, but he knows." It's possible his answer confuses me more. I'm grateful when he takes a deep breath and continues.

"Thanks to some petty shit I did a few months back, Rick pulled me in. Wants me to be his eyes and ears or the like."

"Some petty shit?" I ask. A shadow falls on his face.

"I had an outstanding warrant. Now I don't. If I want to save Merle from going down, I do what the sheriff says. No questions asked." I desperately want to ask him what exactly the warrant was for, but I decide not to press my luck.

I let the information settle around me as I realize we are pulling into a motel. He parks, and jumps out, cigarette at the ready. I join him outside, shivering in the cold air.

As he sucks against the cigarette, his eyes narrow on me. I rub my arms self-consciously under his gaze. I feel underdressed in my hoodie.

"What?" I ask.

After a beat he shifts his gaze, "You look better without all that shit on your face." I feel my jaw slack.

"Thanks." I snap, without a hint of gratitude. Guess he didn't like the red lips as much as I did. 

I look around, the empty parking lot is lit just enough by a struggling lamppost. Daryl snuffs his cigarette into the pavement and heads to a door, unlocking it with click that echoes in the still midnight air.

I follow him inside, and pause on the welcome mat. Unlike his last room, this place has a single bed.

"Your brother isn't staying with you?" I ask conversationally as I slip out of my shoes. He tilts his head towards me, watching me, before he answers.

"He ain't." He confirms, hair falling back in front of his eyes. I look around the room as Daryl pulls a beer out of a box by the foot of his bed.

"Thirsty?" He asks.

"Sure." He tosses me a bottle opener, and I help myself to his self-made mini bar. As I take a sip, I watch him. He toes himself out of his boots, and settles back into the lone chair of the room.

A question suddenly breaks into my thoughts; why did he bring me here? I look around for a second, and then at the beers in our hands before I realize the answer; Daryl wants someone to hang out with.

A smile forms on my lips as the thought solidifies in my mind. Daryl wants someone to talk to, and he chose me. I clear my throat to break the smug look I've surely adopted.

"Did Rick tell you what you'll have to do?"

"Enough, I suppose." Daryl shrugs.

"This mean you're undercover?" I ask, my smile returning.

"No more than I have been since you came along." He takes a long drink and his honesty stalls me.

"You and me both." I remind him, my tone lighter than I think it will be.

He sits back further in his seat.

"He didn't waste too much time asking why you were slummin' it with the likes of me, either." He says, as if we were in the middle of a very different conversation.

I feel my eyes widen. There is a hint of indignation in his voice.

"What did you say?" I ask, curious to know.

"The truth. The real truth," he shifts, "that I thought I was helpin' when I told Joe you were with me." He pauses.

"That I didn't realize what I was signing us up for."

I don't know what shocks me more. The fact that he's thought this much about it, or the fact that he's telling me. I push myself back on the bed, so that I can lean against the wall. 

He eyes his bottle, and I see his face settle into a line.

"It hasn't been all bad, has it?" I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds despite my forced smile.

Daryl affords me a glance through a shift in his eyes.

For a second I think he might ignore me.

"Nah." He shaves the ice off his answer with a half-smile, downing the rest of his beer. I feel a tight pull of heat in my chest, and I shift against the wall. 

"Gotta piss." He announces, heading for the bathroom. I stare at the empty space he leaves behind.

My mind wanders in the silence to our last night together. The imprint from his hand in mine feels like a ghost.

I fight a yawn as Daryl comes out of the bathroom, grabbing a new beer from the ghetto mini bar. He falls back into the chair, and glances at my deflating form.

"You ain't falling asleep, are ya?" I feel my eyes snap to him.

"Some of us need our beauty sleep." I smile sweetly in his direction and his eyes flicker over me, but he doesn't speak. 

I reach over to grab the remote, and with the press of a button the electricity snaps through the air.

"Any good channels here?" I ask.

"I ain't much for T.V." I stifle a sigh of exasperation, and start flipping through the channels despite his lack of enthusiasm.

After a few news channels a familiar sight fills the screen. "Ooh, this is a good one." He is sitting beside the television, and has to lean forward to see.

"What the hell is this?" He asks, immediately lounging back in his seat.

"Grease! Haven't you ever seen it?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice, despite my rapidly fading energy. 

"Nah, must'a missed that one." His tone dips, but I make myself comfortable by leaning on my arm.

Beauty school drop out begins, and Daryl fingers the edge on the chair arm.

"You work tomorrow?" He asks.

"Yeah," I fight another yawn, "it's a day shift." He nods silently and my eyes float back to the screen.

I feel his eyes on me, another question on his lips, but he's silent. The pull of sleep begins to weigh on me and I try to fight against it.

I nod off almost immediately.

I think I make it a few more minutes before a blur of poodle skirts and leather sends me into darkness.

+

When my eyes open, I recognize nothing. I sit upright, fear throttling through my spine.

Daryl is asleep in his chair. He has moved it more directly in front of the door, and I can see daylight streaming through the window.

Dread fills me, and I reach for my cell. It's dead, naturally.

I get off of the bed and look for Daryl's phone. It's plugged into the wall, and I open it quickly - 8:23 a.m. Eight missed calls from Merle. I put the phone down and clear my throat loudly.

Daryl wakes, and looks over.

"My dad is going to kill me." I blurt. Daryl's face is expressionless as he shrugs.

"You're safe, ain't ya?" He grumbles, his voice a throaty bass.

What does safe have to do with it? Suddenly Daryl's chair seems more like a guard at the door, his tone just a bit too nonchalant, and I feel the hair rise on the back of my neck.

"Why wouldn't I be safe?" I half expect him to brush it off, but his eyes flicker darkly over me. There is a silence that settles around us.

Finally, he shifts and his voice fills the room.

"Meant what I said 'bout Joe. Something ain't right about him."

"Yeah, I know. He's this awful crime lord, I was there when he threatened me, remember? What does that have to do with you kidnapping me for the night?" He stands out of his chair at that.

"What did ya' just say to me?" He moves in my direction. 

"Isn't that what this is?" I ask motioning to his chair. "Did you just think you could bring me here every night?"

"You're damn fucking right. Tonight, tomorrow night, and every other night until Joe and his sick crew are behind bars." He tries to keep the volume out of his voice, but I step back just the same.

"It ain't up to you to decide when I'm safe." The concern leaves Daryl's face at my words.

"You made it up to me! Hiding from your crooked boss and his fucking goons made it up to me." He grabs my arm, and I suddenly feel my size.

"You didn't have to lie for me! I didn't ask for your help. Why did you bother saying anything at all?" I shout back. He looks away from me, and I pull my arm out of his grip.

"Why?" I ask again. His eyes are burning on me, and I think I might actually burst into flames.

He takes a breath, about to answer, and I know he won't. He always seems to filter out the very thing that needs to come through. I think I know why. With a surge of confidence, I close the space between us and press my lips against his.

Oh boy.

Oh _no_.

At first he is frozen against me. Actually, I might be the one who is frozen. I can feel the electric weight and pressure of his lips against mine for a split second before I'm pushed away with incredible force.

Stumbling back, my fingers snap to my mouth - as if they can put out the fire that has erupted.

Daryl looks me dead in the eyes. Furious? Excited? Conflicted? Maybe all of the above? I am frozen in place, wide eyed and shaking - he doesn't break his cemented outline.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, and his hands are running through his hair.

"Sorry?" He echoes. "You make a habit of coming on to guys twice your age?" I sense the question is rhetorical, and my eyes fall to the floor, mouth falling into a straight line.

"What are you thinking, girl?" My eyes find his, but I am unable to answer.

"I ain't the person you think I am." He answers, to an argument I didn't make. I feel my blood boil.

"Who do you think you are? Who is it that you think I see?" I say, breaking my silence and stepping towards him. I don't give him a chance to answer.

"Because I think someone who risks everything for me, who protects me, lies for me, who is willing to kidnap me," I continue, gesturing around the room, "that person can only be one thing." I stand as tall as I can in front of him.

"Yeah, what's that?" He spits back.

"Good."

As I answer, I take his hand in mine. He nearly flinches out of my grasp, but I hold my own.

"Why are you so determined to hide it?" I ask.  He doesn't try to avoid my eye line, and I beg the universe to make him understand. 

He takes a breath and begins to answer, "Listen, you -" and we are interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Beth’s poem is I Believe in You by Tyler Hilton. 
> 
> Like/ Dislike? Finally starting to unravel into the sexual tension…let me know what you think <3


End file.
